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“He went back to his cabin, Zee,” Bria clarified. “A few minutes ago. Why?”
Zeta turned on her heel and hurried through the reception. She weaved through the guests moving together on the dance floor to a Nick Blackthorne classic.
She saw the rock star himself dancing with his wife, and then she was outside, striding across the damp grass, heading for Mick’s cabin.
The path lights glowed once more, reflecting on leaves and bushes still wet from the storm. Her feet squelched on the path, mushy grass and sand oozing up between her toes. Mick’s shorts and T-shirt flapped around her legs and torso in the cool breeze.
As soon as she got to his cabin, she was going to demand he take them off her, stretch her out on his bed, have wild, crazy monkey sex with her, and then they were going to have a conversation about whatever the hell their relationship and future was.
How dare he freaking take off and hide in his cabin after everything that had happened? How dare he not come and talk to her?
When she came to the creek they’d both fallen into during the storm, she realized she’d missed the turnoff for his cabin. She threw out a few choice curses—in both English and Italian—and headed back the way she came, fists clenched, jaw the same.
Goddamn it, he was an infuriating man. Even his choice of accommodation was infuriating. She was going to give him a piece of her mind when she found him.
The path almost eluded her again., but a few stomping steps later, she arrived at the rustic cabin tucked away amongst palms, trees, and bushes.
“Huh,” she mumbled, frowning at it. “So this is what it looks like?”
A warm glow filled the window beside the door. Someone was inside.
Mick. Mick is inside.
Fists still clenched, heart racing, she stomped up to the entrance, raised her hand, and froze when the door swung open.
Mick stood on the other side of the threshold.
His stare locked with hers.
She swallowed. “Listen, you arrogant bastard. You can’t just take off and not talk about what we—”
He reached out, cupped the back of her head with his hand, and crushed her lips with his.
She fell into him, into the kiss.
He staggered back into his cabin, taking her with him. Their lips and tongues and teeth battled, and for a moment the world seemed to spin.
She pulled away just as he slammed the door shut behind her.
Breath bursting from her in choppy pants, she glared at him. “Listen,” she started again.
“I’m listening,” he rasped.
She glared more at him. He still only wore his running shorts. “Didn’t Owen tell you to put a shirt on?”
What was she doing? She wasn’t here to critique what he did or didn’t wear.Oh God, Zeta, focus.
“He did.”
She waved her hands at him. “Well?”
“I’ve been busy.”
“Doing what?”
Dio, what was shedoing?
An unreadable expression fell over his face. “Making phone calls.”
